


Issues

by resplendentDiscriminator (dualSupremacy)



Category: South Park
Genre: Child Abuse, Drunken sex, M/M, adult child relations, non consentual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dualSupremacy/pseuds/resplendentDiscriminator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan loves his dad, and Randy loves Stan, but this is going too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Issues

Stan was shaking as the bus was approaching the bus stop, not looking forward to going home. Kyle was watching him silently, concern expressed on his face.

“Dude, you okay?” He asked once they got off the bus and were heading home. He placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder, attempting to comfort him.

“Yeah.” Stan muttered. “Just not looking forward to going home...”

Kyle stopped Stan in his tracks. “Dude, if it’s Shelly, just tell her to fuck off, or fight back or something,” he tried to advise.

Stan nodded in confirmation, although he was lying. It wasn’t Shelly he was afraid of. It was his father. He continued shivering as he headed home, dreading what was to come. He knew Shelly was at college and his Mom was at work, so it was just going to be him and Randy, and that wasn’t what he wanted. He contemplating running away, but that would make things worse.

He sighed as he opened the doorknob to the front door. The stench of beer immediately filled his senses. He looked over to the couch, and there he was, piss drunk and only in his underwear. His father. His drinking has gotten worse over the years, and so was his habit for extreme stupidity. Only now, it’s not stupidity, but pure drunken abuse. He would be as pissed as he was if Randy was doing this to his mother, but it was happening to him.

Randy’s gaze had lazily drifted over to Stan as he stood in front of the door, head hung low. “Commere, Stan. You know whatta do.” He slurred, obviously deep into his drunken stupor.

Stan dropped his backpack and slid his coat off. He raised his head slightly; his dad liked it when he made eye contact while stripping. His gut churned as he took off his T-shirt, disgusted by his dad’s sick perversion, even if he was drunk. He crept closer after he removed his pants, now only in his boxers.

Randy had is hairy dick out already, legs spread, waiting for Stan. Stan kneeled in front of him and took the whole length in. It was either this or get beat, and the latter left marks that would raise questions. He felt his dad’s hand rake through and grab ahold of his hair, forcing him to bob his head arrhythmically. His eyes began to water each time the head hit his gag reflexes, soon becoming full on tears.

His head was then yanked painfully up. His dad leaned down to look into Stan’s eyes. His breath was vile and so alcohol ridden he felt he could get drunk from just smelling it. “Take ‘em off and ride me.” Randy whispered. Stan almost threw up on the spot, disgusted by the request. Tears leaking from from his eyes, he shook his head in protest, earning a sharp rank in response.

Their eyes met in an unfortunate lock, one showing drunken lust, and another full of fear. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, the tension broken by a painful slap, which caused Stan to collapse to the ground. Randy climbed on top of him and pinned him onto the rough carpet. “You will let me fuck you, or you will get beat! Which do you want?”

Stan tried to fight back, welcoming more brutality, and he could feel his nose begin to bleed. “Please, no,” he begged, “Please...” His protests were rewarded with a fierce tug on his hips, turning him around onto his hands and knees. Once again, he was pinned, ass vulnerable in the air, and Randy took advantage of that, plunging into him with only his son’s saliva as lube.

Stan screamed in pain and cursed his body for loving it when his father rammed into his prostate. After what seemed like hours of torture, Randy finally came, climbed back onto the couch, and fell asleep. Stanley did his best to crawl up the steps, and into a shower, longing to wash away the dirtiness he felt. And mostly- to get his fathers come out of his ass.

Once there, he turned on the water, sat on the ground and cried.

Stanley loved his dad. Randy loved Stan. But he’s taking it too far.


End file.
